


Magic Bullet

by LaBelleetlaloup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e04 Magic Bullet, Explicit Language, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4996630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelleetlaloup/pseuds/LaBelleetlaloup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of the hours Stiles and Derek spent in Stiles' Jeep during Magic Bullet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Derek accidentally hits on Stiles if you squint. Stiles does not squint and is a little confused. Apparently I just can't keep the Sterek out entirely.

Scott dumped Derek into the passenger seat of the Jeep and looked entirely too unconcerned about Stiles politely informing him that this went way beyond the bonds of normal friendship. You ask your family to help you with a dead body, er nearly dead, not your friend who happens to be the Sheriff’s son. Stiles knew exactly how much circumstantial evidence would be in his car and how much it took for a jury to convict. He was not going to jail for 25 years and being a convicted murderer for however many years after that for anyone. Except maybe his Dad… But seriously, that was a very short and empty list and how dare Scott presume to be on it?

There was entirely too much awkward silence. Stiles was pissed at Scott. Obviously Derek had to be moved from the middle of the school parking lot but he was not Stiles’ problem. Especially not when he was literally in the process of dying. And what the hell had that tidbit been about 48 hours? Scott had said he would tell Stiles if/when anything weird happened so if necessary Stiles could help him cover the weirdness up.

Stiles glanced over at Derek. He already looked like death, like one of those strung-out addicts that his father showed him pictures of when he didn’t get home before curfew. Stiles did not want to have to dispose of his body. Please let that 48 hours have started like right before school… Judging by Derek’s complexion, they had probably already passed the 24hour mark before Derek showed up to beg for help.

“Where the hell are you, Scott?” Stiles growled, picking up his phone. Scott’s phone rang to voicemail. Asshole. He sent him a text. Surely the idiot had found it by now.

Oh, look, no he absolutely had not. What the hell, why did he need more time? Oh… he wasn’t looking yet, was he? Fucking hell. Oh, God, why was Derek stripping? Ugh, now Stiles had to remember that there was a leather jacket in his backseat!

“Try not to bleed out on my seats,” Asshole “okay? We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?” Derek asked through gritted teeth. Good god, he was already delirious.

“Almost to your house,” Stiles explained patiently.

“What?” Derek perked up a little, sounding terrified. “No, you can’t take me there!”

“I can’t take you to your house?” Stiles echoed incredulously. What the hell did Scott and Derek think he was going to do with a dying man? It was bad enough Derek’s blood was on the seat and half the high school had seen Scott put Derek in Stiles’ car. Stiles was probably going to be the last person to see Derek alive as it was. Derek was not staying in his car longer than absolutely necessary.

“Not when I can’t protect myself,” Derek replied. Stiles pulled the car onto the shoulder and put it in park.

“What happens if Scott doesn’t find your little magic bullet?” Stiles demanded, flailing a little. “Hmm? Are you dying?” Maybe Derek could be made to see sense. Weren’t wolves supposed to crawl off into the woods and die alone? Not in Mama’s Jeep?

“Yeah,” Derek admitted. “I have a last resort.” Stiles could feel the steam coming out of his ears.

“What do you mean?! What last resort?!” Derek pulled up his sleeve. Stiles averted his eyes to keep from puking. “Oh my god, what is that? Is that contagious?” Stiles couldn’t help but glance back over. Oh, god, that was too gross. “Just… you know what, you should probably just get out.” Stiles gestured vaguely at the door, trying not to breathe deeply.

“Start the car,” Derek ordered. Excuse me? “Now!” Do what now?

“I don’t think you should be barking orders, with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think, if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead!” Did that make the damn point yet?

Derek was not impressed. “Start the car or I’m gonna rip your throat out… with my teeth.” Stiles was impressed. Derek clearly still had some physical ability and coherency. Stiles started the car with several internal grumbles of frustration but no further verbal disagreement.

They drove aimlessly in silence for another ten minutes before Stiles called Scott again. It went straight to voicemail.

“Asshole!” Stiles snarled.

“What?”

“He turned his fucking phone off!” Stiles slammed his palm into the steering wheel. “Fucking bullshit!” Derek made a whimpering noise. Stiles groaned. “You are not allowed to die in front of me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Derek mumbled.

“No, I’m serious. You are not allowed to die in front of me. I can’t watch somebody die again. I don’t want to have to do something with your dead body. I don’t want to have to clean the Jeep that thoroughly…”

“Did you watch your mom die?” Derek asked quietly. Stiles glanced sideways. Derek was eyeing him not with pity but with horror. Of course, Derek had lost his mom and most of the rest of his family. Stiles hadn’t really expected pity from him.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded. “It was awful. She was… I just… I can’t do that again. And Scott’s turned his damn phone off. He’s probably making out with Allison.”

“I overheard her friend telling her to get a condom,” Derek offered. Stiles laughed almost in spite of himself.

“Lydia told Allison to get a condom?” he chuckled. “That’s great. What was Allison’s reaction?”

“She thought that was too fast for one date. Said something about she’d planned not to have another boyfriend until college until she met Scott.” Derek snorted.

“How sappy,” Stiles agreed.

“Lydia told her the name of the chemical in your brain that gives you that falling in love feeling.”

“Lydia really isn’t a sappy person,” Stiles nodded. “She’s gonna be a mathematician.”

“That’s the one you like, then?” Derek asked absently.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted. “I mean… Lydia’s gorgeous. She’s really smart. She’s first in the class. She’s always perfectly put together. She throws amazing parties. She seems perfect.”

“You haven’t talked to her, then?”

“No, she’s been dating Jackson since he made first string last year, and she doesn’t really talk to people much anyway. She had a couple female friends in elementary school and different ones in middle school but she’s basically only talked to the guys she’s dated until Allison showed up.”

“She sounds lonely.”

“Sometimes I think she must be.”

“Maybe Allison will put in a good word for you,” Derek offered.

“Yep. Lydia and I have been at the same school since kindergarten but I’m almost completely positive she doesn’t know I exist.”

“You’ll do better at college.”

“Huh?”

“The plaid… it’s a look in college: graphic tees, plaid, lanky…”

“Thank you?” Stiles wondered.

“I feel like death, ignore me,” Derek mumbled.

They drove around some more. It became a pattern for the first two hours: they drove a bit, Stiles tried to call Scott but his phone was still off, Stiles cursed roundly and Derek tried to distract them both. About half past five, Stiles was running low on gas and he started back towards the road into the preserve. At least there, they could sit on the side of the road without being extremely conspicuous.

“I’m gonna run out of gas,” he explained. Derek nodded absently. Stiles spared a thought for how livid his father would be about him having no excuse for the fact he needed gas money two days in a row. Then he tried Scott. Still no answer. “I’m going to rip his fingernails out.”

Derek gave no reaction. “Do you know that guns have literally no redeeming quality?” he asked instead, apropos of nothing. Stiles glanced over at him in surprise.

“Wanna tell me about it?” he prompted.

“I’ve never liked guns. Seriously, what point do they serve? What percentage of gun owners actually go hunt down a deer and then eat the venison? It’s a microscopic percentage, is what it is. They’re just for killing. And not even quickly. It’s inhumane is what it is.”

Stiles made an agreeing noise. “Bleeding out takes a long time.”

“Exactly!” Derek snapped. “It takes hours for a human to bleed out unless you hit just the right vein. Why can’t people have figured out some method of snapping necks or portable guillotines or something that’s quick enough to be relatively painless if they have to kill people?” Stiles nodded. “Guns are so inefficient too. Ammo is heavy and cumbersome and guns only hold so many rounds and honestly most people are really poor shots.”

Stiles made another agreeable noise. His father had been a sniper when he was in the army and was still considered an exemplary marksman. On a typical day, he could hit about seven bullseyes out of ten targets at the gun range. It really ought to take more than that to be impressive. The targets weren’t even moving. He decided not to share. Talking seemed to be distracting Derek, at least a little. His color was slightly improved from death’s-doorstep to I-just-saw-a-ghost.

“Hunters have a better proficiency than the average human, but because of that they don’t practice and then they hit us in the arm or leg and we get to die slowly of wolfsbane poisoning. Spend up to two days depending on general health and the potency of the wolfsbane, if it’s cut with any other poisons, with our blood slowly turning to sludge in our veins. I don’t care if they think we’re animals or monsters. That’s overkill.”

“Definitely overkill if it takes more than about ten minutes to die,” Stiles agreed. “Maybe more like five minutes.” Derek groaned softly. Stiles glanced over to see him fighting back claws and clutching at his arm. That had to be absolutely horrific. After a moment, Derek managed to force the claws back and started talking again.

“And those new exploding bullets! No more possibility of a bullet passing through someone’s body, oh no, now the damn thing explodes on impact and you get to heal around shrapnel. Apparently my backyard is now a warzone. I really think everyone should get hazard pay that lives near someone whose bought those bullets. Or at least they should be warned. The only thing those bullets can do is kill for fun because you can’t eat meat with shrapnel in it. Obviously anyone buying them is planning on murder.”

“Obviously,” Stiles echoed absently, navigating a four-way stop. There was a moment of quiet. He turned to see Derek eyeing him suspiciously. “I was agreeing with you. Keep talking. Guns are evil.”

“They are,” Derek insisted earnestly. He didn’t believe him.

Stiles explained, “My dad taught me to shoot when I was in middle school and it’s relaxing to go to the gun range and shoot targets but I would jump for joy if guns were banned and confiscated this very minute. My dad is a cop. The Sheriff is supposed to be a desk job. My dad refuses to stay behind his desk and keeps trying to get himself killed. Dude, I know all the statistics in favor of strict gun control laws. I was agreeing with you.”

“How is that relaxing?” Derek demanded.

“Well… it’s a routine. You find your workout routine relaxing, right? At least, for the love of God, don’t tell me you don’t even do cardio. I’ll have an aneurysm. Are you so against guns that you’ve never played one of those shooter games?”

“Never been big into video games, so no, I haven’t,” Derek replied. There was a pause wherein Stiles slowly realized that Derek hadn’t commented on his workout routine.

“You can’t possibly be that buff and not even run!”

“Oh, no, I have a workout routine. I do pull-ups and push-ups and all that. No need for a masculinity crisis over there.” Derek looked entirely too amused at Stiles’ expense.

“Oh, ha-ha,” Stiles grumbled. “But seriously, you can keep telling me about all the reasons you hate guns. I do know how to shut up when necessary.”

“That’s debatable,” Derek teased. Stiles rolled his eyes. “I just see absolutely no point in anyone in the entire world having guns. Or bombs. Same thing really, slightly larger scale. Why do you need to put holes in someone?”

“People are crazy,” Stiles agreed.

“They really are. The only reason anyone’s allowed to have guns in Switzerland is because they don’t have a standing army, you know. And they aren’t allowed access to ammo. Even just human crime—how much unnecessary death is caused by guns? How many people die in gun accidents?”

“Too many.”

“Guns are vile,” Derek snarled. Stiles hummed back at him, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel. “Who thought guns were ever a good idea? Oh, we need more violent ways to murder. This is exactly what the world needs. Not a cure for cancer or whatever was the disease du jour at the time, but guns. Definitely the right choice. You know, people, and werewolves, don’t get shot nearly as much in countries where the gun laws are stricter and the government doesn’t buy arms from private dealers.”

“We do have the highest rate of gun violence in the world,” Stiles agreed. “Usually ends with a pretty high body count. In Britain, the cops have to be registered as Authorised Firearms Officers to be able to carry and even then, they have to get a warrant to take a gun on an investigation.” He pulled onto the road into the preserve.

“Limit the weapons, limit the ammo, fucking anything,” Derek growled. “Fuck, my arm hurts.”

Stiles winced. “I’d offer you an aspirin but it thins the blood and the poison would move faster. I don’t have ibuprofen.”

“Ibuprofen thins the blood too,” Derek replied with a heavy sigh. “Just not as badly. Besides, the pain won’t be what kills me if I die.” Stiles winced. He glanced in the rearview. There were far enough down the road to not be noticeable from the main road. Stiles pulled over and turned the car off.

“I know I haven’t been very understanding because I’ve been more worried about what I do with your body if Scott doesn’t come through, but this whole situation seriously sucks ass and Allison’s aunt should be imprisoned for attempted murder.”

“Thanks,” Derek replied drily. His mouth curled upwards just slightly, the merest twitch, for a moment. If Stiles hadn’t been staring or had blinked half a second earlier, he would have missed it.

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles muttered, fighting back his own answering smile.

“I just really hate guns,” Derek grumbled sadly.

“Yeah, dude.” Stiles tried Scott again. Still nothing. They sat there in silence in the slowly cooling car.

About six, Scott’s phone finally rang once before going to voicemail. Scott texted back that he hadn’t found the bullet, Chris and Kate were home and he had been invited to stay for dinner. Stiles made a truly obnoxious noise before relaying the information to Derek, who echoed the noise in sentiment with a strange whining/groaning combination.

“I swear to God that I’m going to kill him. Forget the stupid Hunters. Forget the Alpha. Scott is going to die from me beating his head in. Does he think that I’m Jackson? My father is not a defense attorney. My father is a Sheriff. I’ve got to figure out some way to explain myself without mentioning werewolves and he knows what my tells are.”

“I’ll be okay for a few more hours. Work on your homework.” Stiles couldn’t see well. The sun was already setting. But Derek dug his phone out one handed. The screen had a crack but it was still functional-with a flashlight app.

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles murmured. “Hopefully Scott’ll come through soon.”

Stiles got started on his homework but every so often he texted Scott, reminding him that he was up a shit creek without a paddle. Scott texted back sporadically.

_Talking to parents._

_Victoria’s home_

_Dinnertime. Stop bothering me!_

Stiles had gotten most of his homework done and fended off his father’s check in call, grateful that his father was working second shift and wouldn’t be home until late tonight, by the time Derek’s phone died. Stiles’ phone was on its last legs too. It was already after seven.

Stiles called Scott. _Three times._ Finally he answered. Stiles skipped all the niceties.

“Well? Got any good news?”

“Allison’s aunt seems to like me?”

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Stiles demanded.

“Take him… somewhere, anywhere!” Scott sounded distressed. Good. Maybe now he was getting the damn picture.

Stiles huffed. “By the way, he’s starting to smell.”

“Like what?” Scott was such a dumbass. And Derek could quit looking bitchy. Stiles had not signed up for this.

“Like death!”

“Okay,” Scott replied. “Take him to the animal clinic.” What the fuck?

“What about your boss?”

“He’s gone by now. There’s a spare key in a box behind the dumpster.” Great! More gross smells! Stiles sighed heavily and handed the phone over to Derek.

“You are not gonna believe where he’s telling me to take you.”

Derek took the phone. “Could you find it?” Stiles suppressed a giggle. Apparently Derek wasn’t even touching the other bit. There was a pause wherein Scott presumably did not admit he had been hooking up with Allison. “Look, if you don’t find it, I’m dead, alright?” Surely Scott would be reasonable now. “Then think about this. The Alpha calls you out against your will. Next time, you either kill with him or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet.” Derek hung up. Stiles gaped at him.

“What the hell did he say?”

“He said maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I died,” Derek snarled.

“So he wants me to go to jail for murder. Thanks Scott! Glad to see how high I rate.”

“I don’t think he was considering that you would have to dump my body.”

“Still so fucking high I rate!” Stiles repeated. “Alright, didn’t you say you had a fallback plan if absolutely necessary?”

Derek winced. “Yes. The animal clinic is as good as anywhere else.”

“Okay then…” Stiles nodded. “Trespassing gets to go on my list of crimes. Great. Do you think animal clinics have security cameras?”

“Stiles.” Derek bared his teeth. Stiles turned the car back on and pulled back out onto the road with a U-turn.

“What’s your fallback plan?” There was no answer. Derek just looked a little sheepish. “I don’t really wanna know, do I?”

“Probably not. But someone’ll have to help.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles sent Scott a text, begging him to hurry up. “Please let it be Scott that has to help. Please, God, I’m a good person. I take care of my dad. I get good grades. I make extra money by tutoring instead of selling my Adderall.”

“Don’t hyperventilate,” Derek said quietly, almost a request.

“Trying my best. But I get the feeling I’m going to be pulling into the gas station tonight on fumes. Wanna bet whether Scott’ll fork over some cash for me carting you around for hours on end for him? I’m betting the answer is no.”

“I was starting to get that impression,” Derek admitted. Stiles fought down a smile. Wolf had jokes.

They finally pulled up to the back of the clinic. Derek managed to navigate his seatbelt but Stiles had to find the key and open the door and pull Derek out of car and half-carry him inside. Derek squirmed out of his shirt as they made their way to the operating room. Stiles tried not to let his mind wander as he switched on the light and Derek tossed his shirt aside. He started digging through the cabinets.

“Like I said… last resort.”

“Which is…?” Stiles prompted.

Derek held up a bone saw. “You’re gonna cut my arm off.” What? No. Absolutely not.

Thankfully, after some arguing back and forth and Stiles losing, Scott interrupted with the correct bullet. Derek passed out. Scott fished the bullet out of the drain. Stiles punched Derek and he woke up. Derek opened the bullet, set the contents on fire and stuffed the smoldering ashes in the wound. Even though he fell over again and made horrifying pained noises, it worked. Derek stood back up with his color already much improved and no black veins.

Scott ran off with Derek.

Stiles got no gas money.

His father was pissed when he got home and Stiles informed him that he needed more gas money.

This was so not his week.


End file.
